Ride or Die
by finestsince
Summary: Clarke's Dad vanished 6 months ago, and she's moving to New York to get herself on her feet. Except, when she thought of starting again, she didn't think it would involve and incredibly attractive neighbor coming back most nights looking like he'd seen the worst side of a pub brawl, but is it something more than petty fighting? Modern day AU, slow burn Bellarke. Mild swearing.
1. New York

**New York**

**_Disclaimer-I don't own any of the characters, only the plot_**

_In New York, concrete jungle where dreams are made_

_There's nothing you can't do, now you're in New York_

_These streets will make you feel brand new_

_Big lights will inspire you_

_Alicia Keys &amp; Jay Z | Empire state of mind_

For a long while now, Clarke had been under. Under the weather, under stress, under-performing-you name it, she was there. So it was with admitted relief that after a mildly depressing and pathetic Christmas with her mother in Huntington, W. Virginia, she'd flown all the way up to New York for a 'fresh start'. After all, her father's sudden disappearance six months ago was thrown in her face each time she walked up the driveway of their modest house where she'd crashed her bike the first time her father pushed her down it. It drowned her in its stillness where she'd once jump screaming around the house as he chased her, the feeling caught on the edge of excitement and adrenaline now smothered in the silence pervading her life.

Her mother, Clarke thought, had handled it better than herself. In the months following the disappearance, despite Clarke's desperate efforts to force inquiry's to the police, her mom simply sighed each time it was brought up and squeezed Clarke's shoulder, her eyes reflecting Clarke's desperation but not really seeing it.

In some ways, Clarke guessed it was to be expected; her father, after all, worked for the police and often had come home injured to her mother's expert medical care. The official explanation was that he'd been out on a job investigating a somewhat dangerous, but certainly not deadly, drugs production gang on the east coast, somewhere in Maine, that he'd disappeared on the job whilst staking out around the site, and that by all accounts he was, most unfortunately, dead. Sorry for your loss, but case closed. Something, to Clarke, didn't add up, but she was-as her mother didn't forget to remind her-an artist at heart, and shouldn't take to wild fantasies of police conspiracies.

Well, and that was that, then. Funeral, tears, friends. Friends of friends, sorry for your loss, sorry, sorry, sorry. Sorry. Clarke was sure that they meant it, and she smiled at all of them to show her gratitude; but in the way that one smiles when someone when one receives a criticism-on the chin and not all too warmly.

So she'd packed her things, having finished high school the previous July and arranged with her mom to move up to New York, working almost full time in a small but well run vet, the owner of which, Gustus, was an old high school friend of her mom's. Though reluctant at first to take on a just –out-of-high-school kid with no professional practice, her mom had pulled some strings and told him Clarke had been volunteering at their local vets since she'd been fourteen and was a fast learner. He'd agreed, and even better, agreed to pay her for her work, though the surprisingly large sum left to her by her father and subsequent compensation by the police force was more than enough to cover the gap year she was taking to deal with his death.

So here she was, hiking her bulky bag and hand luggage higher onto her shoulder, her worldly possessions shifting into her and nearly knocking her off balance, into some girl hunched over against the biting wind trying to jam her key into the entrance doors to the apartment.

"Ah-sorry, sorry," Clarke chanted, clutching her hand luggage closer to her and trying to pull her heavy bag behind her back to balance. The girl whipped her head around in surprise at the contact, patting her jacket pocket and glancing at Clarke's general disoriented appearance and deciding she was no pickpocket after all, not with that luggage.

"Watch it, kid." She muttered, yanking the door open and shouldering her way inside without glancing back, dark ponytail disappearing up the staircase inside before Clarke had time to grab the closing door. It's New York City, Clarke, people aren't exactly going to be handing you chocolate muffins at every step, so step it up. She fished the loop of three keys out from her inside pocket and wedged the door open with her foot, kneeing it wider and lunging forward to force both of the bags on her back through at the same time.

This new life was going to be tough, for a bit, but Clarke liked to fancy herself as a fighter no matter how many stereotypes she fit into of a quiet mommy's-girl. The point was, that this life _was _new. New beginnings. No matter if her breaths were painful and punctuated with tears on the day she was told her father was presumed dead or regularly shallow as she gazed out of plane windows, with each of them she missed her father terribly. And even in her head, that sounded so inadequate that she heaved a sigh, for although she was an artist she'd never really been a writer and words weren't something she could use to form any sort of concrete image. That came through pens, pencils, charcoal; but not through words.

The building complex was simple but clean, about thirty apartments Clarke judged from the mail boxes in the hallway. She stepped heavily into the warmth and sniffled from the cold. _Warmth, food, sleep _her brain supplied, and she took its welcome advice ascending the stairs as she silently thanked her mum for packing a butt load of sandwiches and a juice carton before she left, squashed somewhere at the bottom of her bag no doubt but right now Clarke couldn't care less. Although tired, she was somewhat thankful of the darkness at this late hour to let he in to the city under cover, allowing her to redesign herself for the world and walk out of her apartment the next morning with a fresh face-or, at least, she hoped.

All in all, that journey had gone well. No matter the state of her new apartment, she was alone for the first time in her life, supplied with money she never thought she'd have to grieve alone. Of course her mother wanted her to stay at home, but she knew even before her father's death that she wanted to become independent as quickly as possible, and if he'd been able to talk to her, she knew he'd want her to follow her own path regardless of what had happened. _It'll be good for you, Clarke, _he'd say, holding her head and kissing it, _You need to do your own thing, be your own person. You're strong, I know you are. You can be anything you want to be, and don't you let anyone hold you back._

So it was with a sigh that she inserted the right key into the lock of the apartment and shoved her shoulder into it, glad to get out of the narrow hallway and sit down, when she heard a pained hiss from behind her and turned to see what-who-it was. She started, cringing without meaning to and backing a step back into her rooms.

A young, scratched up man was massaging his shoulder with his left hand and carrying nothing that she could see, split lip stretched over straight teeth in a tight grimace. Not even his dark splash of curls, dewy with old rain, could hide the reddened scratch on the side of his forehead and Clarke wondered if this was normal for New York. No, she decided. No, surely not.

She was just deciding whether to quickly back up into her apartment and away from almost certain involvement with this street-fighting maniac or offer medical attention when he glanced up, and she was hit with what was niggling at her mind. Damn, but he was attractive. Dark eyes, carved jaw, tan skin-if he wasn't so banged up, she could've sword he'd walked straight out of a runway catalogue. But he was banged up, and she didn't want to be mixed up with that kind of thing on the first day-okay, night-just when she'd promised herself a new start.

The man glowered back at her stare and swallowed.

"Hi," he broke his glare at the greeting and stopped in front of her, tilting his head back as he pushed down on what was clearly a very painful shoulder, "I'm Clarke, just moved in." She tipped her head to what was quite obviously her apartment.

"Can you move?" His voice was low, unamused, and aimed directly at the bags angled into the hallway which were blocking access to the only other apartment on the wing, a few cold feet away from Clarke's own.

"Are people only ever rude in New York?" she snapped, suddenly tired of being treated like an inconvenience at such a shitty time by the people of the city she'd hoped would renew her. Setting her face stonily and jerking her bags through the door she kicked it shut behind her.

Tomorrow, she promised herself. Tomorrow was the new start, shitty apartment people or not.

**OooooOOookay, first chapter's up! Whaddya think? So, I've only seen the TV series and not read the books, so sorry about character deviations/ plot deviations. Of course it's an AU, but please forgive some and characters you feel are not on point, or tell me and I'll research them more! Furthermore, apologies if any of the research on city's/ places/ weather things are inconsistent, I'm from the UK so don't really know US Geography of towns or how apartments or anything is there, so take it all with a pinch of fantasy and enjoy xD Please review if you have a second, would mean a lot! :D**

**This was prompted by the idea to write in four sections, one for each season, but I've come up with a bigger plot, so will probably evolve into a regularly structured, relatively long story, so I hoe pe you stay tuned ****J**


	2. New York: take two

Blatant stress of the night before had meant Clarke neglected to even eat when she'd gotten in. She only had enough time to register that large bed tucked into the corner of the room connected to the living room by a simple wooden door and the art-deco type lampshade waiting above her before welcoming sleep more readily than ever. Deciding she'd had enough of a rollercoaster life topped by an underwhelming 'fresh start', the Fates had left her sleep as clean and crisp as the new sheets she'd buried beneath and let her be.

The mid-morning light streaming in the window seemed somehow warmer than the light back home, Clarke decided, then snorted to herself. She had to grow up a bit quicker if she were to survive life in New York, as last night had already proved. Starting with this new job-_new job, _she realized with a sinking feeling jumping out of bed with the adrenaline which is only ever accompanied by the sickening drop when you're guilty or you're late. The latter loomed over Clarke, shoving her into action and violently murdering her ideas of looking good on her first day. Ponytail and jeans it was-a bit of foundation and the sandwich she'd forgotten about last night were mechanically applied and inhaled before she was out of the door with a backpack.

Unsurprisingly, she managed to back step into someone coming out of the door, and was about to apologize when she clocked the split lip from the night before.

"Woah, hey," rude New Yorker No# 2 supplied as he held out his hands to steady her unnecessarily. Clarke just grunted and manoeuvred herself fully out of the door and closing it, though when she turned, he'd blocked the narrow hallway and was standing with his hands still up in surrender.

"Look, about last night-" someone slammed a door on the level above and footsteps could be heard skipping two steps on the way down.

"Long day, yeah, I get it, but I'm late for work. So if you could just move," She turned his phrase back at him and stepped forward; he let her pass.

"I'm Bellamy, by the way!" She could hear his smirk.

"Great." She threw over shoulder, and definitely did not wait until she was out of sight to start running to work again.

As it turned out, her apartment was walking-or running-distance from the Vets, only four blocks away, so when she arrived puffing and red faced at the sliding glass doors she had two minutes to admire them before stepping into the warm, anaesthetically smelling room. It was 8:30, not too much of a stretch considering how she loved her lie-ins, and the elderly gentleman behind the counter greeted her more warmly than she'd expected.

Although his hair was receding it was showing no signs of greying, and he held his clipboard to himself as if for love of the creatures on it. Clarke felt easier than she had done about this whole thing, until a man who looked as if he belonged in an episode of _Game of Thrones _blocked the doorway leading in to what looked like a store room to her left with two bags of thick blood in his left hand.

"Ah, Jackson, this must be Clarke," the outstretched hand he offered suspended a tattoo which disappeared under his sleeve but probably twisted up his arm, Clarke thought.

"Nice to have you on board, kid. Your mum has high expectations of you, and I gotta say, so do I. Listen well, don't screw up, and we might just have to keep you. I'm Gustus, this old trucker is Jackson and he'll show you for today what you need to do. Admin, I'm afraid, until one of the trainees or I have a second to spare to show you some more complicated ropes." Clarke's hand was released from possible the most calloused hand she'd ever held and wondered how many scalpels could possibly slip at a vet.

"Now-ah here we go," he muttered as the first customer of the day arrived early. Without a second to glance back, he strode towards the door at the end of the hallway and disappeared inside.

"Here we go Clarke, come behind the desk and we can get you a uniform in a minute," Jackson supplied with a wave of his arm and turned to the computer as the man handling a tilting basket clutched protectively to his chest stopped in front of them.

"Hi-er, hi, I think my appointment was at nine but this little fella-" he frowned down at the cat which was currently using the basket as a kitty rocking boat, "-was just really not looking good."

"That's no problem, Mr Jordan, is it?"

"Just Jasper's fine." He replied, shooting Clarke a grin.

"Well then Jasper, I'd wait on the seats down the hall and the vet will be out shortly." Jackson entered some numbers into a box next to Jasper's name on the computer as Clarke hovered uncertainly behind him and Jasper carefully picked up the basket again, quietly cooing to his cat which made Clarke smile softly.

She'd been in love with animals for a long time, beginning where it always did in childhood's grasp where all animals were pettable and cute and furry. As she'd grown up and found she'd had a hand for medicine like her mother, it occurred to her that becoming a vet might be a better career choice than a doctor if she ever wanted to escape her mother's shadow. Not that she liked to talk about it much, but she knew her mom used to be some big shot doctor before she had Clarke, but gave it all up to move to a smaller town and raise a family. Not that she didn't love her mother, but every time the medical issue came up it felt to Clarke as if any passion she may have for it had been used and wrung out by her mother, leaving her with nothing new that hadn't already been done. She wanted to be her own woman, be useful in her own way, and this, she'd decided, was it.

So she let Jackson lead her into the backroom and introduce her to two of the trainees behind the desk; one guy who looked like he hadn't seen a proper shower in a few days, eyes set slightly too far apart with a jaw thrusting leer and one-well, one pretty cute guy with shaggy hair and an inviting smirk. The first was a guy introduced as Murphy, whilst the second stuck out his hand and introduced himself as Finn.

"Nice to see a pretty face around here, god knows we need some." He grinned at her, shooting Murphy a jovial look as Clarke snorted and blushed a bit. Back in her home town, as she'd lived there her whole life; though she'd dated a few boys in high school she'd never really _done _anything per se. Not that she didn't think about it, but it was different when you were supposed to be friendly to everyone but look ahead to your future-Clarke just didn't see the point in getting in to something that wasn't going to last. Perhaps it was the romantic in her, but she'd rather wait than get it on behind the school bleachers, thank you very much.

Disappointingly, the boys were both held up in the back room feeding the few animals kept in a large white room beyond the store room, with spacey cages and comfy looking beds inside. On Jackson's assurance that Gustav needed the help in the clinic room, she quickly changed into some simple trousers and blue medical shift given to her and stepped into the clinic room through the back door.

Jasper and Gustav were already in there, though the cat was still in its cage, and Gustav nodded to her slightly when she came in.

"Mr Jordan, this is Clarke. She's new working with us, but has an experienced background working with animals. I assume you won't protest to her helping me examine your cat?" Though Jasper assured him it wasn't a problem, Clarke didn't really think it was a question so she approached the twitching basket on the table in the middle of the room and unlatched the front, slowly sliding the door open and keeping one hand forward to stop the cat leaping out.

It was a splindle-legged grey cat that mewled as she let her hand away. Creeping out, she began to ignore the conversation and focus on slowly letting the creature sniff at her hands cautiously to ensure it was safe to come out. The antiseptic hand wash probably wasn't comforting it, but when she made no move to stop him crawling out the young thing nudged her hand experimentally and pushed its way out of the basket.

"There you go," Clarke cooed to it, scratching his head once before holding him firmly by the middle for Gustav to finish asking questions to Jasper and pull on his gloves.

"Ok, let's see what we've got…"

The rest of the day went pretty calmly as far as Clarke was imagining. No crazy old cat ladies, nod dogs with rabies-one lizard who'd been attacked by the neighbour's cat, but it was as big as Clarke's arm and Gustav said it wouldn't have to be put down, just rest and a few stiches to its intestine.

Calm, Clarke decided, was good since it let her give in to catching Finn's eye throughout the day and trying to hide a smile as he made faces as he passed. He was growing more with every minute which was unfortunately when Clarke realised she'd probably been kept too long away from male company. _Seriously, one day and you're already swooning over him? Just act cool, Clarke, chill out. _

"Hey, Clarke," the clock on the wall behind Finn's head read 4:55, 5 minutes before she was scheduled to leave and was leaning an elbow on the front counter where she was sorting through some paperwork as Jackson went to file some others in the back room, "you like coffee?"

"Coffee?" _Coffee, Clarke, co-ff-EE, yes you like it, he's totally into you! _"Yes-yeah, of course I like coffee."

"You'll like it even better with me. Let's go." He grinned down at her and grabbed his jacket from the coat rack.

"Ah, sorry, Finn; it's not the end of my shift yet. Five minutes, then I really should ask Gustav if everything's okay and stuff-" Finn's eyes rolled in a playful sort of way and sprawled in the seats next to the glass doors. "Okay, Princess, I'll wait." Clarke laughed at his faux exasperation and hastily stuffed the now organised papers into a plastic wallet. She was about to find Gustav when he emerged from the clinic door at the end of the hallway and walked towards them.

"Tiring day, Mr. Collins?" he growled down at him, and Clarke had to keep herself from laughing again as he snapped out of the seats and saluted.

"No sir, fighting ready, you know me." He grinned cheekily and Gustav grunted.

"Unfortunately, I do. Good work today Clarke. Same time for the rest of the week." It was with that he disappeared into the store room and Clarke grinned at Finn.

"Coffee, then?" She asked amicably.

"I know the best place in town."

To Finn's credit, the best place in town was pretty impressive-they type of place highflying entrepreneurs and lawyers might drink; which, of course, made Clarke feel totally out of place.

"Relax, Princess," he hummed into her ear, slinging an arm over her shoulder as he guided her past the front lobby and nodded at the front man, "my dad practically owns the place, everything's on the house." Clarke blushed at her feet but insisted on paying for herself and he just shrugged, not letting go of her shoulder. The heat of his arm seeped into her shoulders even through his jacket, and she leaned in to him a bit, happy to play along with her new New York lifestyle. If this was what it was all going to be like, then she sure wouldn't be disappointed. Finn seemed charming and sweet, and god knows she needed some of that to forget about the assholes she'd bumped into last night.

After taking an overly gilded elevator up what felt like 100 floors, Clarke and Finn stepped out onto a blindingly white and windy open air 'coffee shop'. It was packed out with suits but Finn managed to manoeuvre them through the throng of people to a pair of free seats next to a glass railing. The view over the city was spectacular, and a feeling of guild bubbled in Clarkes stomach for a second, the kind that usually falls on us when we realise that we've grown up too quickly with our parents image just streaming slowly through our mind. Thinking of her father must've etched itself onto her face, because Finn nudged her foot under the table.

"What's up, Princess?" the sun was over his right shoulder, and Clarke squinted into his face.  
"Nothing," she smiled in to the light and looked down into her lap before meeting his eyes with some difficulty. "So your dad owns this place?" she asked.

"Well, practically. He's managerial head, I don't really know; think it means he practically owns it though. But who cares, you're much more intriguing." He smirked at her and leaned back in his chair.

"What brings you to New York? It was a nightmare to get into that vet, thought I'd be getting in to all the blood and gore," Clarke grimaced, "but Gustav's had me sorting and feeding and doing crap all day for ages. First day in and you're already in clinic? Must have had to pull some strings."

"What?" Clarke laughed at his ridiculous assumption. "No, of course not. Well- he's an old friend of my mums, so maybe a few," Finn seemed placated somewhat by that and quirked his mouth, "but I've been working with animals for ages, it's not like I just came in incompetent. I can handle myself."

Finn threw his head back and laughed, which irked Clarke despite his jovial manner.

I have no doubt, Princess, no doubt. But New York's a big city, so if you ever need showing around," He leant his elbows on the table and dropped his head, looking up at her through dark lashes, "you know where to come." Clarke couldn't hide her blush, so she just punched him lightly in the shoulder and laughed.

"Does this coffee shop actually sell coffee, or is it just for talking?"

Her first date was going well, if she did say so herself.

It was getting dark as they walked back to Clarke's flat, Finn having insisted on accompanying her back. He'd kept his hands to himself this time, but Clarke missed the warmth his arm provided. When they arrived at the front to her flat, she hesitated for a moment and wondered whether or not to invite him in for a look around, though she certainly didn't want him to think it was going to anything else. She was saved the decision as a familiar face emerged behind Finn, cut lip still prominent and accompanied by a fresh bruise fanning itself like watercolour on wet paper from the collar of his black, leather jacket and up the side of his neck.

"Inviting lovers back already?" Bellamy shot over Finns shoulder, making him start and turn, glowering at the man at least four inches taller than him.

"What,no-" Clarke spluttered, but Bellamy just slid in front of them and shoved the door open frowning to himself.

"Just keep it down. It's-"

"Been another long day?" Clarke snapped, forgetting Finn was standing, seething, right beside her. Bellamy turned in the doorway, amusement hovering on his lips as he looked back at Clarke. But something tightened in his smile and he looked down as if the words themselves reminded him of their subject.

Not another word passed between them but Bellamy turned and let the door close, disappearing up the stairs. Clarke heaved a sigh; se really was going to have to make some more friends if this was what it was going to be like every day at her flat.

"Who is that asshole?" Finn spat angrily, narrowing his eyes at the stairs Bellamy had gone up.

"No one, look, thanks for walking me home Finn. I'll see you tomorrow." She offered him a smile which she hoped he would leave with and he quickly took her hand and kissed it, smiling cheekily as he backed away with his hands up.

"Until tomorrow then, Princess!" he called, and shoved his hands in his jacket. Clarke just laughed and stepped into the warm entrance herself, for some reason hoping as she walked up the stairs that Bellamy might still be at his door. When she got to the second floor however, he was nowhere to be seen, and she sighed again to herself. As much of an asshole as he was he looked pretty messed up from the state of his face and she couldn't help but worry.

Well, and at least she'd made one new friend today, work was interesting and Gustav seemed reasonable. _New York: take two _Clarke thought, didn't go so badly after all.

**Woo ok some Finn/Clarke for you though that may or may not (or may) hit the rocks sometime soon-thanks for all the support so far, review if you have a second would love to year what you think! :)**


	3. Dangerous

_Faded but I still start_

_When I saw you on my way out_

_I rolled all my sleeves up_

_You may be a situation_

_Sweet Talker-Jessie J_

It was amazing to Clarke how quickly her life could transcend from dark monotony to a world where ever bridge inspired her to paint, every movement to sketch and every face to draw. The diversity among people and places within the city was immense but her routine of work, Finn taking her around town in the afternoon and relaxing at home quickly made her feel as if, even in the frantic rush of New York, she'd found a niche where she could fit in and enjoy herself.

Even the situation with her new flat mates was improving-the girl she'd seen on the first night held the door for her the next time they were getting in at the same time, and the time after that-when they were both checking the mail boxes-she'd introduced herself as Raven and smiled at her a bit. Clarke smiled back, relieved that things seemed to be getting better.

Still, the last few times she'd arrived with Bellamy in the last few months or left with him he'd simply strode on ahead with a tight jaw, not even bothering to laugh at her when she'd forgotten the key to the main entrance. The bruises on his neck had faded with time and Clarke couldn't help but notice the scar on his lip had faded back into pursed, worried lips. In lieu of split lips and bruises, dark circles appeared under his eyes. By the time Clarke spotted him disappearing into his flat ten steps ahead looking like he hadn't eaten in a month, she was really beginning to get worried. It wasn't until three months after she'd first arrived that things began to get really ridiculous. Two consecutive nights she heard rather than saw him stumbling drunk back into his apartment. The third night, she really was getting sick of it and pried herself out of bed to tell him how much of a ridiculous time 3am was to be making an ass of himself on the streets.

The words never made it out of her mouth, however, because as soon as she'd opened the door she had to cover her mouth to stop from gaping at the state he was in. He wasn't stumbling-he was limping because there was a lot-_a lot-_of blood staining his jeans. Something similarly dark was also making his shirt stick to his left shoulder blade and when he turned to face her she couldn't hide her sharp intake of breath.

"What the _hell," _she whispered harshly as she took her hand away from her mouth and half reached out to examine her shoulder before remembering who this was. But her parents had raised her better than that and the desire in her to help others, especially when injured, burned up her throat and scorched away fatigue.

"Bellamy, what-" she looked him up and down again, taking in dust and rips in his jeans and ripped jacket now held in his hand. "What the hell _happened _to you?" He snorted, sucking his teeth before shaking his head slightly, a humourless smile scoring his lips.

"Had to have a word with a couple of old friend." He supplied mysteriously, turning away to open his door.

"And-hospital? Have you been to the hospital?" She knew the answer before he spoke but the underlying panic with which it came out surprised her and she fully reached out to take his wrist and turn his arm up for her inspection when he looked like he'd disappear inside. On anyone else, the raw grazes on his arms would've had her worrying her lip; but they were nothing next to the wet darkness now spreading down his side.

"No-no way, Bellamy. Look, I know we don't know each other, and you haven't exactly been pleasant in _any way," _he snorted quietly and glanced down to where her hand still held his wrist. She let it go and stood back to open her door, "but you have _got _to let me look at those-cuts. There're a million different ways for them to get infected. Please, let me help you." Her breathing had sped up through adrenaline and worry, and he appraised her for a few seconds before shifting to face her fully. In the dim light, he looked like he should be in one of those gangster films her dad used to watch, smoke spiralling up behind him and a gun in his back pocket.

Just thinking of her dad had her swallowing. There was nothing she could do, not enough healing in the world to bring him back but there was someone right in front of her who she could help and she'd be damned if she'd let him walk away.

Bellamy stood in front of her still and cracked his neck from side to side. He winced, pursed his lips as if to say _I'm really not happy about this_, but finally seemed to make up his mind and limped past her into her flat. Boy, was she thankful she'd cleaned it up earlier.

"Just sit, sit there," she gestured at one of the stools under the table and he slid it out, fell heavily onto it and winced again, "and don't move. I'm going to get the first aid kit."

She hurried into the bathroom, searched the cupboard next to the shower and pulled out her mum's specialised first aid kit in a large blue box, one stuffed with normal first aid kit materials and things that she'd kept for the days when her dad needed some more serious attention. _We're definitely going to need some of that, _Clarke thought worryingly, and took it into the living room where Bellamy had rested his head on his upturned palm with closed eyes.

He caught Clarke staring as she made her way over to him and smirked.

"Need me to take off my shirt?" His back was bloodied, and she thought there he might have been hurt on his side too, from the way he was almost huddled protectively over it.

"Yes, actually. I can cut it off if it's-or, you could just. Ok." Clarke stopped as Bellamy had already straightened and pulled the dark t-shirt over his head. To his credit, he did a good job of hiding his pain. And, well, Clarke wondered briefly how many "old friends" he'd run into, 'cus he sure wasn't being looked after by any of them.

Anticipating what was coming and having seen quite a bit of blood on her dad at some point or other, she managed to not gasp again, though she wanted to. His torso was littered with small cuts, no more than an inch or two long and not too deep though raw and interwoven with larger, more painful looking bruises, predominantly around his right hip. What caught her eye most, however, was the thick liquid smeared on his left side which Clarke looked at first. There didn't seem to be any lacerations on the side so Clarke padded round the stool to see if-ah, yes. Ok, just his back, Clarke. No need to panic, just his (perfectly sculpted) back with a _huge freaking gash _over his left shoulder blade stretching from its bottom right hand jut diagonally across to his left shoulder. She bit her lip and moved forward to inspect it as Bellamy sat dutifully still on the stool, hands hanging off his knees and head lolled to the right to give her a better view.

"What _did _this to you?" She asked quietly, but Bellamy simply looked to his right out the window and heaved a sigh. At best, the wound would leave only a faint scar; at worst, an infection which could have spread across his back if she hadn't offered to help. No way could he have cleansed and stitched this up by himself though, some to think of it, there was no reason he wasn't shacked up with some supermodel chick now that Clarke came to think about it. He seemed the type to attract whoever he pleased, and though Clarke hadn't seen anyone else come out of his apartment, there were a lot of people in the building she hadn't seen. She swallowed and promised herself to keep it professional which was just as well because this is _exactly _the thing her mom was worried about. Getting into trouble and falling in with the wrong crowd.

"Ok, it looks deep but nothing I can't fix. I'm going to need to clean it out and stich it up-"

"No."

"Bellamy, it's going to get infected if I don't-"

"No, no stitches. Can't you just clean it out and bandage it or something."

"No, I can't-it's almost a finger deep and stuff like that doesn't just heal up by its self. Look-let me clean it out, the stiches won't be nearly as bad as that."

"Anyone ever tell you you have a great bedside manner?" Clarke couldn't help but smile quickly a she remembered her mother telling her exactly that. She wasn't one to sugar coat things which, in the medical industry, left something to be desired.

"Just sit still and be a good patient, ok? This is going to be hard enough as it is." Without saying another word, she took some plastic gloves out of the medikit and snapped them on before she grabbed the pack of antiseptic wipes and tried to clean around the wound as much as she could. Despite the wound seeming to have heaved it's last breath of blood, the first few she used were soaked through within seconds so she turned and grabbed a fresh kitchen towel from the kitchen top and soaked it through.

The water was warm, but it she could still see Bellamy's jaw clench as she pressed gently around the wound to clean it for disinfection and stiches.

"You know, you still haven't told me your name." Though Clarke was sure he was aiming for a relaxed tone, his clenched teeth made it sound more like an accusation.

"Clarke," She replied, "Clarke Griffin." He stiffened suddenly under her touch and she pulled back quickly.

"Sorry, this bit's not supposed to hurt too badly."

"Ah-no, it's fine, keep going. Clarke." He seemed to mutter her name as an afterthought and Clarke smiled despite herself. Completely out of bounds dangerous neighbour or not, her name seemed to roll like liquor off of his tongue, burning through her when she heard it.

The area around the gash was as clean as she could have hoped it to be by the time the washrag looked like it's original colour was a deep, disturbing red, revealing Bellamy's otherwise smooth, olive skin stretched across hard muscles. Clarke checked herself, took a deep breath, and reached around him for the chlorhexidine gluconate. The liquid sloshed as she took it to the sink and diluted it in a plastic beaker and she grabbed the last two tea towels wrapped around the over handle for the process. Soaking the first in the solution, she scrunched it up and held it with her right hand whilst holding the second dry one as flat as she could beneath the wound on his back to prevent the liquid running down into his trousers…definitely not a situation she'd like to be in. Luckily, the wound looked clean. Her mom had once told her that it's not often clean cuts are accidents, because clean wounds mean clean cutting instruments. Clarke hid the thought at the back of her mind and focussed on dabbing the wound as gently as possible without making too much of a mess.

Bellamy hissed through his teeth when she had to wash the deepest part of the wound with a fair amount of solution but she pressed on to get the job done. After cleaning and disinfecting the wound, making sure nothing else was lodged in it and that it really had stopped bleeding she took out the needle and thread she'd seen her mom use several times, twice on her, to put in stiches. But hers were only small: one on her knee no longer than the first knuckle on her pinkie and one short but deep one on the back of her calf where she'd once cut it on the sharp edge of something or other. She was too young to remember the pain, but by the time she'd threaded it up and was about to begin she was beginning to. The sharp surprise, at first, which she could see in the way the lean muscles on Bellamy's back arched away slightly and tensed visibly.

"Relax, it's easier if you just relax." Clarke murmured, not sure if she was trying to convince him or herself.

"Easy for you to say." He muttered, bending his neck forward again so his back was arched towards her. Clarke had to pull her eyes away from the spray of curls at the base of his neck, and the way the bronzed skin of his back lightened and uncovered a spattering of freckles which she hadn't noticed earlier. _Focus, Clarke. Don't go screwing this up now. _

It was harder than she'd first thought. She'd stitched up her mom's hand once when her dad was away on police business, though she'd guided her through the whole thing and it only needed a few-so her mom could start it and told her how to finish it, and nothing dreadful would happen if she messed it up. But this-this was different.

Clarke didn't think Bellamy would be making a fuss over nothing, and right now he looked like a toddler who'd been told that if they didn't sit still they'd get no dessert: he kept going to move away or twitch in annoyance but somehow held himself in check. The disinfectant must be hurting more than the stitching but both together in a wound this deep must be hell. Why couldn't he just go to the hospital like any normal, level headed , non-murderous looking human being? Well, and she guessed that answered itself. She didn't know what hospitals were like around here, but back home if someone showed up in this state a pretty pile of questions would probably be getting asked at this point.

So she stuck her head down, ignored the inviting heat still radiating from his body under her hands and finished closing up the wound. Eventually, it was closed and Clarke would be lying if she didn't heave a small sigh of relief. Thank god tomorrow was a Sunday because she could very well not function on anything less than a solid seven hours of sleep.

"Ok, the stitching's done. How does it feel?"

"Like I've been slashed in the back with a machete." He deadpanned and Clarke almost laughed before swallowing it whole, leaving her with an uncomfortably heavy weight in her chest. A machete. He was joking, right? Because that would fit but would also be very, very worrying and the adrenaline of the night was slowly beginning to wear off. Instead of answering, she just fished around in the bag to pull out two bandages and tossed the shorter one back in.

"You need to stand up so I can bandage it up," she told him, though at second glance, she wouldn't be able to bandage across his front without covering the other cuts that looked even more menacing in their slight appearance.

"It's fine, thanks for the help, Clarke." He stood up anyway, bending to grab his jacket and shirt.

"No, absolutely not! I've just cleaned that whole thing, I'm not going to have you die on me because of a cut a millionth of the size, Bellamy, sit down."

"I though you told me to stand up?"

"I-you-just, stay there." She huffed. The quiet laughter that followed her to the bathroom didn't help but in the end she decided her dignity really had suffered enough for one night.

"Bellamy, come here." She ordered, balling up a hand towel she'd recently bought and throwing it in the sink. Although most of the blood had been cleared from the shoulder wound, the dirt wouldn't be helped by the disinfectant wipes and she wasn't going to bloody well wash his chest for him or so help she'd probably faint, die of humiliation or both.

He appeared in the doorway and leant on the frame gently with his thumbs hooked into the loops of his jeans in a way which was indescribable amounts of distracting. Every time Clarke began admiring his well build torso, though, the cuts and bruises slammed her back into reality and her protective instinct shone through. It must have shown on her face, because Bellamy smirked in an attempt to prevent the rise of a most unwanted subject.

"Is this the way you lure all your men into bed, Clarke? Offer them help and then straight to the shower?" His devilishly dark eyes sparkled at her and she spun the taps on harshly.

"That wouldn't be leading them to bed, then, would it?" She snapped back before she thought and the startled bark of laughter Bellamy let out almost balanced out her humiliation to make it worth it. Almost.

"Who would've known? Prude vet by day, seductress by night." Something in the way he spoke the word _seductress _had Clarke shivering for reasons she should completely not be: not with this stranger in her flat, this dangerous man with a dangerous life. Not for him.

"You need to wash that dirt off before I can disinfect the cuts and take the gravel out of that arm, so clean up and come back out when you're done." She gestured to the towel soaked through in the sink and turned the taps off, sliding past his tall frame still leaning in the doorway. He didn't budge an inch as she moved out and waited until she'd finally slithered past and stepped over his feet to shut the door. Clarke let out a breath didn't realise she'd been holding and went to rummage through the bottom of the medikit to find the pins.

Thankfully, Bellamy wasn't long in the bathroom and by the time he was out she'd unwrapped both bandages and took out the iodine wipes. Without the dirt which had seeped through his shirt, the lacerations on his chest looked better and less likely to be prone to life threatening diseases anytime soon, which was good. A few scars were scattered around his lower abdomen and hip but most of the new cuts where kissing the skin stretched taught across the hard muscles of his chest.

"Seriously, do you cut Finn up to look at him like that?" Bellamy's gravelly voice cut through her thoughts and Clarke's face flushed before picking up on what he'd actually said.

"Finn-how do you know Finn?" he just snorted and sat back down on the stool facing away from her.

"I don't. Just seen him around here enough to know he's a grade one creep." Clarke gasped indignantly despite herself.

"That's not true!" Even to her, her voice sounded an octave higher than reasonable, so it was after she'd walked round to his front and carefully soaked the cuts with the iodine wipes that she replied in a less hysterical voice.

"You don't even know him."

"And you do?" he countered, straightening his back so she could clean his cuts more easily.

"I work with him, he's nice. His dad owns this huge coffee shop-"

"Ah, in it for the money." Bellamy smirked, and Clarke scrunched up her face.

"Don't be stupid, of course not. Stop being so rude about him, you don't even know him." Clarke finished up with the cuts on his chest and moved back to his shoulder, holding the end of the bandage there as she begun to wind it down around his torso, under his right arm and over his left, leaving a tent over the wound and making sure the bandage wasn't airtight. Leaning forward, she pulled her head back as far as possible so as not to have to back-hug him in the process, though he wasn't making it easy for her having slumped back down slightly and even turning his head to look over his left shoulder when she wrapped it around that way.

"You need to be careful who you make friend with, out here. People aren't always what they seem, Clarke."

Well, and what was she supposed to say to that? Nothing, she decided, and finished the bandaging. The clock on the wall read only 3:40am, though it'd felt like two hours, sitting there with this impossible man who was dangerous, attractive and confusing in equal parts who warned her against her boyfriend in a tone leaving it completely ambiguous as to whom it was actually concerning. Clarke had had enough for one night.

"Okay, it's done. Please don't get hurt again; I'm not sure my sleep schedule could stand it." She stepped back, handing him his jacket and shredded shirt, crossing her arms across her chest and inspecting the bandage as he stood up to face her. A breath came and went where he just looked at her with eyes almost as quizzical as the man himself, where Clarke wondered if she could stand him being in her personal space with his arms and chest and face facing her like that.

"Thanks, Clarke Griffin." Was all that passed between them before his presence had vanished through the door and disappeared with the _click _of the lock.

**Woooow thanks for reading, hope you enjoyed it! They're getting longer and longer as it goes on haha, couldn't leave this one half way through! Review if you have a second, no problemo if not just hope you like it and stay tuned for more! :)**


	4. Revelations

After what Clarke had dubbed as "the 3am incident", her frequency of Bellamy encounters became something she'd be looking forward to each day. Whether it was smiling at him tiredly after her day at the vets-which, as Finn rightly stated, she was coming to grips with rather slowly despite her initial promise-or walking out of the building with him in the mornings, his presence in her life over the following few weeks became increasingly hard to ignore.

Clarke would be lying if she said she was uncomfortable with all the attention-though Finn being as affectionate as he was didn't help the guilt that settled in her stomach after she'd bid goodbye to Bellamy. Strangely enough, his attitude had 180'd after "the 3am incident"-although, Clarke guessed, it wasn't that strange at all. In hindsight, she was even surprised at herself to offering welcome to a complete stranger covered in blood, but what was done was done.

At the vet, things were progressing more slowly than she'd expected. Back home, she'd been allowed to handle the animals and prescribe some of the less serious treatments since she'd been there for such a while and knew a lot of the pets. But here, Gustus had a lot of medicines and high end treatments she wasn't used to, so she was often staying with her holding the pets or filing or filling in for Jackson whilst he was busy at the reception. Still, there was no way Clarke was complaining about being paid for this, despite having the compensation money to fall back on, she really wanted to earn her keep.

At work, Finn was a regular nuisance. Whether there were people around or not, he'd regularly throw an arm around her or peck her on the cheek-the women who came in, and even some of the men, smiled warmly at the display, and Clarke wasn't complaining about him, either. From the first night he'd walked her home to the nights he'd kiss her goodbye outside her apartment he was turning out to be a proper gentleman. She'd hear every permutation of the 'doesn't know what no means' kind of guy, so it was relief to finally find herself dating on who clearly knew when to wait.

It was only about four months after he'd first walked her home-they'd been back to his place plenty, which is why they didn't hang out at Clarke's- that she invited him in when they got to the doors.

"Ah-thanks, Princess, but I gotta leave. Dad's got this family meeting with the step bitch, and I can't really miss it." He grimaced apologetically and Clarke kissed him goodnight and thought nothing about it. In hindsight, she though it perhaps would have been better if she hadn't turned to watch him leave, as at that exact moment Raven walked around the corner, head down with her red bomber jacket wrapped tightly around her as she changed the music on her ipod. Finn, having looked over his shoulder to grin as Clarke watched him leave, bumped into Rave-not hard enough to hurt but enough to make her glance up-and that's when it happened.

Within seconds, Finn was stumbling across the pavement and managed to catch himself on a nearby parked truck before careening into the road. Raven pulled back her fist and stormed into the building. She ignored Clarke who was stunned into silence and her dark ponytail was soon whipping up the stairs.

"Finn!" Clarke finally managed as he lent one arm on the truck and checked his jaw with the other. Blood was slowly making its way over his chin and he wiped it and spat.

"What-what the hell was that?"

"That a friend of yours, Princess?" Finn grimaced and stared darkly up at her as he bent his head down to try and stop the bleeding.

"No, I don't know her at all, Finn. What the hell was that though? Come on, come inside and let me check it's not broken-"

"She hasn't talked to you at all, Clarke, hasn't told you anything?" Finn was now standing up on the pavement and looked pretty intimidating with his face covered in blood. Vaguely, Clarke registered that that was the first time she'd hear him say her name. It didn't sound so welcoming when he was crowding her personal space threateningly.

"No, Finn, what are you-" he grabbed her by the arms then and shoved her back into the wall.

"Ouch! Finn-get the fu-"

"What did she tell you! What did she say to you Princess? Been plotting together have you, having a little fun?" Through the pain, Clarke clocked his staccato breaths which sent fogged air from his flared nostrils like a dragon. His eyes were wide and the corner of his nose twitched maddeningly, long hair partially covering his face. He was livid, and he slammed her again into the wall.

"Finn," Clarke started more gently, afraid of what he'd do if she riled him anymore, "look, please, I didn't do anything, I don't know raven, I've ba-" _rely even talked to her, _she was about to say as Finn abruptly staggered backwards. Oh, god.

"Oh, god, Bellamy, wait-" too late, Bellamy's fist had already connected squarely with Finn's jaw and he stumbled to the ground.

"Bellamy,no-" Bellamy had grabbed Finn's collar and jerked his top half back off the ground, pulling his face up to slam his fist into it once more.

"Don't-EVER-" by the time Bellamy had retracted his fist once more, Clarke had gathered herself and stepped up behind him to catch his fist.

"Bellamy, Bellamy please, this isn't right." His chest was heaving with rage even more than Finn's was with pain but he turned to look at her and she pleaded with her eyes as well. She'd never believed that physical hurting people was ever the right way to solve something, though it sure was hard to protect Finn after his outburst at her. But it made her stomach drop further to see someone hurt because of her, and she wasn't going to let that happen.

"But he just-"

"I know, Bellamy, please-this isn't the way." With both of her hands she held his wrist and still there wasn't a chance in hell that she could've stopped him if he'd wanted to punch Finn again. So when he let her pull him up and away from Finn now scrambling up and backing away, it was difficult to keep the surprise off her face.

Bellamy stared Finn down until he'd backed all the way around the corner; he eyed Bellamy like once would eye a lion ready to spring. Clarke still held his wrist between her hands, and if it weren't for being slammed into a wall by her boyfr-ex boyfriend?- she'd probably be trying to hide the blush creeping up her neck. He moved the hand of the same wrist to her face, gently holding her jaw and tipping her head from side to side.

"Are you okay?" he asked quietly, and now he was holding her face up with his palm and each fingertip exploded a thousand different neurons in Clarke's face and she was holding his hand there and leaning into his touch and-

"Is that fucker gone yet?" Raven yelled from her second floor window, ponytail flipping around her face as she scanned the street below. Clarke cleared her throat and let go of Bellamy's wrist. She ducked her head quickly and stepped around him to peer up at Raven.

"He's gone, but I don't get it-"

"29. Room 29." She shouted down, still frowning, and closed the window to the cold. Clarke stood stunned and was about to comment about the weirdness of New Yorkers when a hand on her back made her jump.

"We should go up." Bellamy told her quietly over her shoulder, reaching round her to key open the door and hold it for her.

"Er-thanks." Clarke smiled nervously and stepped inside. His hand stayed on the small of her back, guiding her up the stairs and onto the second floor. Down the first hallway and to the left-Bellamy seemed to know his way-and the door labelled '209' was wide open and lit the hallway with a soft, blue, flickering light.

Inside, the flat was pretty similar to Ravens. From the twisted pieces of metal, bolts and tools lying on the table, Clarke guessed that she also lived alone. The room opened out from the door like Clarke's into a larger room with a window onto the street and a kitchenette on the right. The bedroom door was propped open on the left and through it Raven strode carrying some sort of metal contraption which _thunked _on the table in the middle of the living room.

"Sit down. This isn't going to be good, Clarke-Bellamy. I should've known." Clarke looked back at Bellamy whose hand still lay on her back and frowned.

"Clarke, Raven and I-" Bellamy began, probably wanting to tell her something before Raven got the chance to.

"He screws all the new girls. But he's not the problem, so he can leave." Clarke stepped away at that remark and perched on the dark sofa beyond the table, though Bellamy didn't leave.

"Raven, that's not fa-"

"Yeah, yeah, whatever Blake. I'm not mad at you, I'm just mad. But seriously, would probably be easier if you left." He shifted and crossed his arms over his chest, still lingering in the doorway.

"For _both _of us." She added. He threw once last, calculating and, Clarke thought, disappointed look at her before nodding and closing the door quietly behind him. Awkwardly, Clarke sat with her hands pressed between her knees and waited for Raven to speak.

She hooked a stool closer to the table and sat down as she began to pull parts of the metal away and unwind screws, tightening some others.

"Sorry. Kind of the only I can calm down, fixing shit, taking things apart." She leant over the table to pick up a piece of tubing from the end of the table and began tinkering with that as well.

"Raven, what was al that _about? _Finn thought that-thought that, I don't know, we were ganging up on him or something? Why did you punch him?" Clarke sat back a bit and tried to swallow the other questions creeping up her throat. Raven snorted and dug the heels of her hands into her eyes.

"Finn and I-we used to be a thing. Like, for ages," Clarke's stomach clenched for no good reason; he wasn't someone she ever wanted to see again. "Since we were kids, really. And then, you know, we got together. It was great. It was more than great. His dad loved me, and my mum kind of sucked and I'd known him forever that it just felt like I was finally-finally part of a family." _Cheating, _Clarke's mind instantly supplied, but that didn't explain nearly enough, so she just continued to listed as sympathetically as she could to Raven.

"Like I said, it was really good. Guess I couldn't see what was right in front of my face until it was literally there." Raven sighed and took her eyes off of the metal now resembling a toaster. "Look-Clarke, you've got to understand. I'm not defending him or anything, but his dad's one mean piece of shit when he wants to be. When I first-found out-I was so torn up, felt so freakin' _used_ that I almost couldn't get past it. But if you knew him-well, you might be able to forgive yourself a bit more."

Clarke's face screwed up in confusion.

"It's a long story, really, but, well, have you heard of Mountain Men? In New York?" Clarke shook her head no. "The Men-they're like our version of the mafia, except, like, crazy."

"Mountain Men? There's not a mountain even close and what the hell has this got to do with Finn?" Clarke edged closer to the end of the seat in frustration but Raven held up a hand.

"No-wait, seriously, Clarke, if you've been dating Finn then you need to hear this. Before he comes back asking for you and you say yes." It sounded like experience talking.

"Finn's dad, god, you have no idea. I didn't really think much about him 'cus he was never around with us; never around, period. Probably why me and Finn were so close. My mum used to work for his dad in one of the chain restaurants he owns, which is how I met Finn. One of those fancy parties at one of his houses, y'know?" Clarke did; her parents had often brought her along to huge cocktail parties of friends whom Clarke would never see again.

"Well, neither of us wanted to be there. We kind of just stuck together after that-looked out for each other. And eventually, we got together. I don't know, maybe, like, two years ago or something." Raven pursed her lips and returned to tinkering with the metal in front of her. "In hindsight, I probably should have noticed earlier, to be honest. Finn's dad used to beat him, pretty badly. Probably still does. I used to ask, but he'd never tell me why. But he'd come round with these huge freakin' bruises up his side and stuff-I always told him we should run away but he'd just laugh. Laugh like it wasn't even an option-well, I guess it wasn't."

By now, Clarke was thoroughly confused and sick to her stomach. His father beat him? The cord in her stomach tied by Finn's aggression earlier tightened into worry for him on top of her anger.

"Well, I knew something weird was up with his family although Finn never said anything to me directly. But one night we were at his house and his dad bursts in with these three guys. I don't think he knew we were there, but damn did he look pissed. Two of the guys he was with worked for him, I'd seen them together a few times. But the other guy they were dragging along. He was bleeding so badly, I thought he was already dead. Anyway, Finn hid us in the closet in his room and calmed me down. Scariest shit of my life. And that was it; I don't know how long later, but there was this kind of dull click. I was so out of it I wouldn't have realised what'd happened if Finn didn't look like he was about to throw up."

Clarke herself felt like she was about to throw up. On the precipice of the revelation she knew was coming, for a moment she wished she could step back to her quiet life with her parents. Not this craziness, she didn't live in a movie for Christ's sake.

"He'd been shot. The guy they brought with them. His dad and everyone left, and Finn dragged me out and out of the place before someone could come clean up the mess. But the body was still there. The body and blood. Jesus, Clarke, I've never seen anything like it." Raven looked up at her then and saw her slack jaw and white face.

"This is ridiculous. Look, I'm sorry, but, like, what? Finn's dad? Why the hell are you telling me this? What does this even have to do with-with him-" Clarke broke off at a loss for words as Raven gazed on as sympathetically as Clarke had seen her yet.

"I'm sorry. But you need to know, Finn's not the kind of guy to let you go, and don't you work with him anyway?"

"How did you know that?" Clarke asked.

"Saw you come home in your uniform last week. Didn't put it together before, but Tailway Street Vets? Isn't that it? Yeah, well. I may not be best friends with Finn anymore but he's worked there for a while now."

"I still don't get what this has to do with me." Clarke tried again. Raven pushed the stool back from the table a bit and crossed her arms.

"You know I told you about the Mountain Men?" Clarke nodded mutely. "Well, I kind of knew they existed before. They're the most dangerous people in New York, dabble with the black market, drugs and-other stuff. Finn's dad's one of the higher ups in the gang, or whatever. Pulls a lot of strings, he said. Which is why you need to know, Clarke. The shit he's messed up with-you really don't want to go down that road. Someone like you wouldn't last five seconds; heck, I'm surprised I've even lasted this long." Clarke scoffed and crossed her arms right back.

"What do you mean someone like me?" Raven smiled for the first time today though it fell back into a concerned frown almost immediately which made the next sentence caution Clarke more than it offended her.

"Please," she said softly, "small girl in a big city, lonely already and doesn't know her way round?" a fair assessment. "They'd eat you alive." Her eyes flickered down to her boots and Clarke got the uneasy feeling that Raven was once again talking more from experience. She swallowed but pressed on.

"I still don't get it, Raven. You said you knew something was up with Finn your whole life, and now you suddenly hate him? Is it because his father's a-a criminal?" The word seemed heavy on her tongue and yet too bleak to cover what he actually was. This, apparently, wasn't the right thing to say as Raven snorted and stood up abruptly.

"Want a beer?"

"Er, Sure." She popped the cap off two dark bottles and handed one to Clarke as she fell in to the sofa next to her. Her legs extended straight in front of her as she slumped and rested the beer on her stomach. Clarke sat back a bit so as not to have to crane her neck and waited for the explanation.

"After that night, things were different. I still loved him-I guess I still do-but he was more withdrawn. Wouldn't talk to me about anything important, would barely kiss me. It wasn't until like a month after we hid from his dad that I went up to talk to him, thought it might help since we hadn't really discussed it. And – I walked in on him." Clarke could feel the betrayal as if it were her own; if it'd been her, she'd have been devasted and pissed. But Raven was his best friend-went through all that shit with him and stuck with it, and he _still _cheated on her?

"Did you know her?" Clarke didn't know why she asked, but wanted to dispel the awkward silence.

"I didn't know _him. _Got the hell out of there before anything else could happen. Haven't talked to him since." Raven threw her beer back and stared at the ceiling. "He came back the next night, and the next just off his face. Every night was bad, so I moved out here, which is when I met Bellamy. On one of the worse nights-don't worry, it was only one time. We don't actually like each other, and I wouldn't be any competition anyway." She smirked at Clarke as Clarke flushed.

"I-Bellamy and I aren't, we're not together. Come on, I only just broke up with Finn-well, I guess I haven't even officially done that yet." Clarke frowned, but Raven just laughed.

"Please, Clarke. I see the way he looks at you. Just- Blake's another of those hit and run types, I'd be careful." Clarke nodded absentmindedly, Finn's history and misgivings still replaying through her mind.

"So-if Finn's gay, that's why his father beats him, you think?"

"Yeah, I reckon so." Raven spoke quietly turning the cold bottle in her hands.

"I want to forgive him, I do. After all the shit we've been through, there's just no way I can't, it's just-"

"-he betrayed you." Clarke finished for her. They were both quiet as they sat back on the sofa.

"When we were outside, he pushed me in to the wall, said he thought we were ganging up on him or something."

"Yeah, I saw. Sorry about that, he's been raised rough." Clarke couldn't help but notice how Raven apologised for Finn like they still belonged to each other. "Guess he was scared we were taking the piss, or something. If his father found out what I'd seen, Jesus, I don't even want to think about it. The thing is, he tried to get Finn into the family business, and all that. But Finn's not a killer-not even a criminal and he can't stand it. I think with that _and _his father suspecting he wasn't into chicks, well, that's probably why he thinks he's got some twisted freakin' right to hurt him like that." Raven spat.

"But if he found out for real-I'm not defending him for what he did to you but he's got some messed up shit at home. And that's hard coming from me." Clarke didn't push it-though she felt as if her and Raven were friends after all of this.

"I think I'm going to talk to him. I know he's dangerous. But he'll come back to you, Clarke, his dad keeps track of everything he does-no, don't look so worried. As long as nothing looks out of the norm, I don't think he'll do anything about it."

"You think his dad's going to come after _me?" _Clarke never squealed, but this was an outstanding situation.

"No, that's not what I mean. He's just-he's crazy, ok? I don't _know _what he'll do, that's the point. I just wouldn't put it past him. Which is why I'm going to talk to Finn."

"No! What, Raven, you just said he-"

"I know! I know, ok? I just," she leant forward to hold her head in her hands, "I've been thinking it for a while anyway. I need to be in his life still, he needs to be in mine. We're still family. No matter what, we're still family, and if me pretending to be with him, or at least still being friends with him, is going to stop him getting hurt then I have to. I have to help him." Clarke sighed and leant back. Well, and nothing would have prepared her this morning for what was to come this afternoon.

She was grateful she's heard about Finn's past; it might make him easier to forgive. Still, there was lingering fear in the back of her mind that she'd already tripped in to the kind of 'wrong crowd' she'd always been warned against. She was exhilarated and terrified in equal parts.


	5. Reflections

The next few days of work were difficult, though Finn didn't appear the day after the incident. The next day Clarke was asked to help in the clinic room before he got in so only saw him with Murphy at lunch time. Sensing the awkwardness reverberating off the two, he made his exit muttering something under his breath.

"Clarke, I-"

"Save it, Finn." She took a deep breath through her nose, wondering what she should tell him she knew, if anything at all. Her inner feminist wanted to punch him in the face for being so violent. But there was something that was just _her,_ something she could never really define. It was the same thing that made her treat Bellamy, despite his lack of kindness, and it was the same thing urging her now to protect Finn from whatever shit show he'd grown up in.

"Look, Finn," she began lowly so as no one else around the hall would hear, "I didn't know _anything _about you being gay-" his eyes snapped up to hers then, but she held up her hand and continued "-before you had a go at me. It was only afterwards that Raven told me everything."

His face paled and he dropped his head. Clarke was pissed, wouldn't let him touch her for a long time probably, but, god, what she knew about his home tore at her heart.

"I'm sorry, Finn, I really am. But," she held up her hand and made sure to look him in the eyes, "don't _ever _touch me like that again. Or I swear to god, I don't care who your family is, I'm taking your head off." A small, sad smile quirked the side of his mouth before it disappeared.

"I'm sorry-for everything. I-I know it must feel like I used you," Clarke pursed her lips, but he hurried on "but I like you, Clarke, seriously. And-I'm sorry I screwed up us being friends. That would've been cool." He got up from his seat and turned to leave. "I know I've got no right to ask anything of you, Clarke, but, please, if my father finds about-about me," he glanced down at the floor and his head twitched slightly. When he looked up again, Clarke nodded to him. "Don't worry, I'm resigning anyway-"

"Finn, wait-"

"No, it's not because of you. Well," He smiled that sad smile again, "not entirely. It's time I made up my mind about my future. This is only part time while I'm in college, anyway, so. I really am sorry about-about hurting you. But it's better this way, I think. You shouldn't be involved with someone like me." He hovered in the doorway momentarily, looking up through long lashed, like the first time they'd met, and Clarke felt her heart pull all over again though for different reasons. "Raven-she texted me last night. Said she wanted to talk. I-I suppose I should thank you for that?"

"Not at all." Clarke shook her head. "She seems to think that you'd be trying to get back together with me if someone wasn't watching out for you. She'd a good friend, Finn. And she'd my friend too, now. So hurt her and-"

"And you'll set Bellamy on me?" Clarke laughed humourlessly at him.

"And I'll beat the crap out of you myself."

"Got it, Princess."

* * *

Clarke had knocked on Raven's door the other day when Finn hadn't been to work but she wasn't in. She was planning on trying again today, but even lifting her feet up the stairs exhausted her after the chaos of the last few days and she made her way to her own flat on the next floor instead.

Some guilty part of her was relieved that she was no longer mixed up in the world she thought she was going to be, this crazy New York scene with a dead man. But she was worried, as well. Worried for Raven getting back in to a world she'd gotten out of just to save Finn. But, then again, Clarke mused, she guessed it wasn't _just _to save Finn. From what she'd told her about them, it seemed like she still loved him despite what he'd put her though. Clarke kind of understood- she felt used herself. But knowing what she knew about Finn's life, well, it was kind of hard to stay too mad for too long. It just wasn't in her nature.

"Long day, Clarke?" the voice unknowingly brought a smile to her lips as she turned to see Bellamy leaning on his doorframe in loose pyjama pants only. Clarke blushed and turned back around to her door, trying hard to let Raven's warning blot out the image of his god like chest.

"Hey, I save you from harassment and you can't even say 'hi'?" He chuckled quietly, probably knowing the effect he had on her. She laughed softly back and turned to face him, crossing her arms over her chest.

"Hi. I-wow, your cuts really have healed quickly. Must've been shallower than I'd thought" she mused to herself and it was Bellamy's turn to cross his arms over his chest. Clarke blushed, realising what she'd been staring at and snapping her gaze away.

"Thanks for the other day but, y'know, I had it covered." She absolutely did not, but hey. She expected him to smirk at her obvious defensiveness, but his eyes tightened and the ends of his mouth curved down.

"You shouldn't be hanging around with people like him, Clarke. I told you."

"You know him?" she asked incredulously.

"I saw what he did to you, I don't need to know him!" he shot back harshly. Her cheeks flushed from the embarrassment of not being able to protect herself. She turned back to open her own door when he caught her upper arm.

"Wait, I'm sorry, Clarke. I was just-worried. Worried about you." He'd turned her around so that she was backed up against her door. For the second time in as many days he had her trapped in his gaze, face leant close to hers with his hand still gently resting on her arm. Except this time, he had no shirt on, and the heat from his body was creeping into Clarke's own as she tried really, really hard to remember this was the dangerous playboy neighbour straight out of some stupid movie whom Raven had already warned her about. His lips were parted slightly and his arm came up-and Clarke had just made up her mind to screw warnings-when he pushed himself away and stepped back, turning slowly and scratching the back of his neck.

"C'mon, you look like you could use a drink." He drawled. Clarke let out a breath she didn't know she'd been holding. She touched her face with the back of her hand whilst he wasn't looking. It was embarrassingly hot and her heart was beating a dozen times faster than it should have been. But this wasn't Finn-wasn't some guy rooted into the freaking mafia of New York. Wasn't some guy using her- at least, not the way Finn had been. At least with Bellamy she could enjoy it like he was if she knew him already for a player. No strings, Clarke. He's hot, just don't get too mixed up with feelings and you'll be fine. It _had _been a long day and Clarke wasn't about to let one (honestly, horrific) experience stop her from building her new life back up again.

She followed him in, closed the door behind her quietly.

* * *

"Red, beer or-" he tipped bottles in his cabinet aside, "-something stronger?"

"Red's fine, thanks." His back really did look nice without bucketfuls of blood smeared across it.

He took one out to pour and gestured to the L-shaped sofa in the corner of an otherwise pretty empty living room. The thick rug on the floor looked comfortable enough, Clarke though, but the two chairs at the dining table looked like they weren't used all too often. Trying to peer discreetly around the corner to the bedroom Clarke spotted on of the only pictures or ornaments of any kind in the room; an old photograph which looked like it'd been folded up to put in a wallet framed in a nice new frame. In it was a younger, less trouble ridden version of Bellamy with his arm protectively around a stunning girl who, Clarke hoped, was his sister and not his long lost girlfriend.

"Cute picture." She told him, still trying to project the full grin plastered on photograph-Bellamy onto the real thing.

"Cute?" He laughed as he handed her the wine glass and laid his own down on the coffee table in front of her. He disappeared around the corner for a second and re-emerged with a grey t-shirt pulled over his chest. Clarke tried to not let the disappointment show, and almost laughed at herself. Back home she wasn't a prude, but she didn't sleep around with many guys at all. Especially with her dad's death it was really hard for her to be happy for two seconds without feeling guilty for it; but she'd decided when she'd moved here that she was a woman now. She needed to carve out a life for herself, no matter how unforgiving the world was. She'd remember her father every day of her life, but there were things she needed, some form of human contact, that she'd not survive without.

"What's up?" Bellamy asked from beside her as he read the worry lines etched onto her face.

"I-nothing. Who's that in the picture?"

"C,mon, what's up? That guy's not still bothering you, is he?" For a second Bellamy's eyes flashed dangerously but Clarke shook her head.

"No-it's, it's nothing, seriously. Depressing home stuff, forget it." For a moment Bellamy turned his head and took a sharp breath as if deliberating. He looked at the same photo Clarke had been inspecting momentarily before turning back to her with a warm smile.

"Tell me, Clarke. I can handle it." Clarke felt her insides warm as he turned his body to listen to her. After her mom flat out refused to discuss with her any possibility of there being anything suspicious about her father's disappearance, a cold weight had settled in Clarke. She loved her mom, of course, but she just couldn't believe that there was to be no more discussion, as if her mom was shutting her out with the rest of the world. Even having Bellamy listen might help, so she tried to explain it in a way he'd understand.

"About 9 months ago now, 6 before I moved out here, my dad-disappeared." Bellamy's jaw clenched and Clarke hoped he hadn't had something similar happen to his parents as she'd never heard him mention them. "He used to work for the police and one day, he just-disappeared. No explanation, nothing-the force just gave us a tonne of compensation money for his _death _and told us it was a huge tragedy. Of course it was, but, I don't know, some of it just doesn't add up. He was supposed to be on some recon job out of town-nothing he hadn't done before, nothing that should've meant-that."

Bellamy cringed sympathetically and dropped his eyes, thankfully not coming up with the 'I'm sorry' that Clarke had nodded to one too many times.

"You think something dodgy happened?" he asked, turning his head to look out of the window behind the couch.

"I-I don't know." Clarke admitted. Silence encompassed them for what felt like hours but was probably seconds and Clarke swallowed the lump which had risen in her throat.

"I wouldn't give up hope, Clarke." He spoke softly now, not looking at her still, and for some reason it made the lump expand instead of dissipate.

"How can I not, though?" she didn't care about the desperation she felt, because she felt as if she were also on the brink of reasons to keep hoping. "He's gone-he's dead. And I need to-I need to start my own life, but every time I try to be happy I just-"

"-feel guilty." He turned to look at her now. An unimaginable sadness seemed to echo from her eyes into his and Clarke fought to keep herself moving any closer. She nodded slowly instead, looking away and sipping her wine quietly.

"I know what you mean. My sister- the one in the photo -she disappeared as well." Bellamy looked away again and Clarke swallowed the sorry which threatened to worm its way through her lips. Instead she reached across herself with her spare right hand and squeezed Bellamy's which was slung across the back of the sofa. He looked up at her softly and smiled almost apologetically but Clarke let his hand go before she could do anything she might regret.

"Do you think you'll ever find her?" She asked gently.

"Yes." His immediate response shocked her; it wasn't the hope that burned treacherously inside of Clarke and which, she'd assumed, Bellamy was still hanging on to.

"Wait-do you know where she is?" Clarke questioned more urgently. A moment suspended between them where, if she didn't know better, Bellamy was weighing up his options. Her mind reeled. His jaw tightened minutely.

"Yes." He whispered.

* * *

**Wooo thanks for reading guys, hope you enjoyed :) Next chapter will be some hot Bellarke that y'all love, review if you have a second, and thanks to all of you who have already it really encourages me every time! Next chapter should be up tomorrow or the next day at the latest so stay tuned :D**


	6. Pandora

_"Wait-do you know where she is?" Clarke questioned more urgently. A moment suspended between them where, if she didn't know better, Bellamy was weighing up his options. Her mind reeled. His jaw tightened minutely._

_"Yes." He whispered._

Clarke was stunned for a moment.

"But what happened to her? She left, or…" _she was taken. _Bellamy inhaled deeply through his nose, turning to sit forward on the sofa instead of angled towards her. His hands fell into his lap and he cradled his wine glass, gazing in to the deep red as if it were a crystal ball. Clarke's heart leapt up her throat-she could only begin to imagine what might have happened to her. As if through a haze her memories returned to her: Bellamy's back bleeding out; his injuries both old and new. Her stomach dropped.

He took another deep breath through his mouth and Clarke absentmindedly noticed the dimple in his chin which was more prominent when he pursed his lips as he was doing now.

"You're really bad at making friends Clarke, you know that?" he laughed quietly. Clarke snorted, thinking he wanted to just change the subject.

"So we're friends now?"

"Well, you did probably save my life despite me being a class A asshole for a while." He aimed an apologetic smile at her and she hit his arm.

"Yeah, you were. Guess I just can't help myself saving people in distress." She half joked and he looked affronted.

"I was _not _in distress!" He laughed. But the laughter died down to the quietness in his eyes once more. Clarke swallowed and sipped her wine again, noticing in the silence how the freckles from the base of his neck extended around and across his cheeks. They kissed his nose and fell from his cheeks in a way that faded some of the hardness into innocence and Clarke wondered which medium would capture it on paper.

"My family used to all live in Danbury. It was-it was fine, our dad wasn't around, but our mum was fine. I didn't know back then but I think dad was involved in some…stuff. Drug stuff. Got mum hooked. She loved us, I know," He turned his head slightly at the memory, "but it was hard. Growing up. She was either wasted or high or on some weird shit, so O and I just kind of fended for ourselves. I'd been to school there for a while until we couldn't really afford it anymore, but we had this beat up old laptop." His mouth quirked slightly, and Clarke mimicked him in sympathy. "I couldn't get a job back then, so I couldn't get money to put O through school. But I knew I had to get her into high school and college no matter what. There just wasn't another option for her. So I used to read up on everything, anything, teach her as much as I could at home and take her out of the house on some of our mom's worse nights."

Coming from a family with a doctor for a mum and a policeman for a dad, it was hard for Clarke to understand what Bellamy's life must have been like. She'd had love, food, a roof over her head and people to look out for her through her whole life; though she knew how lucky she was, it was hard to comprehend growing up without them. Her throat constricted tightly thinking about it, but she knew the best thing for him would be just to listen.

"One night she went out and just didn't come back. I didn't realise what had happened – she'd disappear for days at a time and wouldn't say anything. But she just-she just didn't come back. There was a family in the flat above us who I knew, luckily. Had gone to them for food a few times when we had none and she wasn't around and there was nothing left. I was going to tell them what'd happened, that she'd gone, but Octavia was adamant that I didn't. She thought we'd be separated if we were sent to an orphanage and honestly, so was I. Because I knew that if it came down to it, and Octavia had the chance to go to a family who'd get her an education, get her a life, I'd let her go. I'd persuade her to go." He heaved a sigh and Clarke didn't know what to say. From the town she was from, it was the kind of dramatic stuff of news and movies; but for Bellamy it was real life.

"She means a lot to you." Clarke said softly.

"She means everything to me." He replied and leant back into the sofa. "She's my sister and-well, after we were alone, we hitched rides to New York; the few times mum had told me where she was going, it was to New York. Said she had a friend here- I thought it'd be a supplier or something- but I was desperate. We had a bit of food, a bit of money I'd kept, but nothing that'd last."

"I'd searched the place before we left. Mum was so out of it most of the time that she couldn't remember adman thing, which was pretty lucky, really. She'd written down the stuff she needed –the places she could get her dose from. Only three were on this piece of paper in her draw: two places I knew in town; and one address in New York. I thought they'd help us-don't ask me why, I didn't have a choice. I thought," Bellamy snorted derisively and shook his head, "I thought could work for them, I don't know, something. _Anything. _Just so I could keep O off the streets, put her into school someday."

Clarke swallowed hard, not liking where this was going. Bellamy wasn't looking at her, his face a mask of regret and disgust.

"We got there fine-some young couple gave us a ride most of the way and dropped us inside New York. I didn't want to show them the address, didn't want them to call the cops about two runaway kids after we'd gone, but we got to the place fine as well. It wasn't what I'd expected; the paces I used to find mum were usually these shitty, rundown flats like you'd think of. But this place; it looked pretty good and we somehow got inside without any hassle."

"Well, we got in alright. Got to the top dog, actually, in the nicest freakin' room I'd seen in my life. He said he recognised us and then-then he pulled out a picture of us from this book. Jesus, I should have run right then. He knew us. He – I found out later – he had something to do with my mum. Disappearing." Bellamy swallowed hard and his face tightened again pulling his freckles down towards the straight line of his jaw.

"But I didn't know that then. He was nice – that kind of unarguable persuasion. Told me my mum owed him – owed him big time. I didn't know, I had no idea. But she was in deeper than I thought – and he wanted to be repaid. Told me he would take us in, feed us, shelter us. What more could I have wanted?"

The sickening feeling in Clarke's stomach swirled sickeningly slowly as she listened. How someone could go through all of this was beyond her and she felt herself shift involuntarily closer to him, wanting to protect him from the pain of his past.

"So I agreed, agreed to help him with whatever and to begin with it was fine. I kept O with me always, there were a lot of men around this place, but it was fine. I knew even then what they could do, but they helped. They brought us food, they gave us things, let us play with the books. We were never put through school in New York-they had tutors come in, and sometimes we saw some other kids around this place, and some of the places we were taken to. It was fine, it was great, I just didn't give a shit as long as O was fine and under a roof. And she was.

"But when I was 14-they started wanting me to help. To do things for them-fine. I knew it was a long time coming; 5 years they'd kept us fed and off the streets and I wanted to help, wanted to pull my weight. At first it was the small stuff, the stuff I thought I'd be doing. Taking packages in backpacks and stuff, taking things across town. sometimes going to the prison and talking to people in there, telling them things which probably sounded a helluva lot less important coming from a kid."

"I got older; jobs got bigger. Octavia was left out of it, thank god, sent to a high school when she was old enough and got an education. But I was getting deeper in, getting trusted more with bigger jobs. I think they were testing me-testing my loyalty. The packages would get bigger, and in time I started driving the vans for them." Bellamy took a gulp of his wine and set it down. He tipped his head back on the back of the sofa and rubbed his face with a hand before linking them both together on his lap.

Clarke watched his eyes close slowly and his Adam's apple bob as he swallowed.

"I was earning money, more than I thought I'd get. I could put O through school by myself after a while, I insisted on it. I wanted to pay off my mum's debt, not get further in. I knew what drugs did to people and I hated every second of moving them until I was just numb to it. It was good; I'd worked off a lot of the debt. A year more, maybe two and we'd be out. We'd have our own place; I'd get some job at a bar or a mechanics or something." Bellamy smiled sadly at what could've been before continuing.

"I kind of knew about the dealers; that they weren't just dealers. I'd heard things, jokes thrown about. But I kept my head down. I was so scared of what they'd do to Octavia that I had to- we were both under their thumb after everything they'd given to us. Money wasn't just doled out, it was kept until we filed for it, so there was no way we could just cut and run.

"And then," Bellamy suddenly opened his eyes and looked at the ceiling and Clarke wanted to reach out and touch him; his face contorted for a second before relaxing, "I'd passed. I'd passed whatever tests they'd thrown at me for the past twelve years, and they sent me somewhere new. Some place round the back of town, told me to just drive there and pick up the goods, drive back to one of their warehouses. I knew it was bad. I knew it wasn't good-I'd never been to either of the drop off points before ad there are only so many places I had to drive."

Clarke's breath hitched; if Bellamy labelled it as bad after all the stuff he'd been through, she didn't even want to know. The sickness spread through her limbs and made her palms sweat. She put her wineglass down and turned on the sofa to face him again.

"I couldn't see much-just backed into the garage of this detached house pretty far out of the centre and waited. But I knew. I knew before they got in-none of the pick-up places were this far out. None of them looked this suburban. Usually, when I picked up packages in the van it they were dumped in, or put in in boxes. This was different. I knew it before I could even see it in the mirror-they were putting people in the back." He whispered the last bit, closing his eyes again tightly as if to rid the image from his mind, or maybe to remember it more vividly to punish himself from guilt; either way, Clarke's mouth opened slightly. It was horrific, what he was suggesting. She should be scared of him, should be jumping up and leaving by now but something urged her to stay still and quiet.

"They were putting girls in the back." He spoke more meekly than Clarke imagined he could and this time she did gasp.

"I let them do, until they knocked on the back doors and watched me leave. I could feel them weight of them in the car and all I could think of was Octavia. Where she was, what she doing right now. It was almost three in the afternoon and I knew where she would be, still at school, maybe finished early. What would they do to her if I didn't deliver these girls?" He spoke as if disgusted with himself, and Clarke really, really wanted to leave. Wanted to rewind this day; her problems looked like nothing next to this.

"But I couldn't let it happen. I couldn't deliver them to that life," Clarke let out a breath she didn't know she'd been holding, "but it was hard. It was tough because I knew what kind of people they were in the back of that van-people who no one would miss if they'd vanish-that's why they were taken in the first place. And they'd be expecting me at the drop point in a few hours. All I could do was run; ditch the vehicle which was tracked anyway. I got O as fast as I could from the school, ditched everything we had from them and left the truck on a side road. Ran for our freakin' lives and calmed down enough to get a taxi to the outskirts and hitch a ride from there.

"I don't know what happened to the other girls, I was so bloody scared. Octavia was almost crying, but we had to split. I had enough money to give them some for a taxi out, told them to do what we were doing and to do it quick."

Clarke's heart was beating faster now, connecting the empty words to the present day and feeling sicker than she ever remembered feeling. Her hands twisted in her lap and she put her glass back down, dreading the next few lines.

"We ran. Hid. Ran more. I thought it was okay-thought they'd let it go, maybe thought we were more trouble than we were worth." Deadened hope flattened his eyes as Clarke watched.

"Four years. Four years they left us alone. About 5 months ago-" Bellamy broke off abruptly and closed his eyes, looking away. His jaw clenched and unclenched, working around his reality like the poison that it was.

"Bellamy, it's not yo-"

"_They took her._" He whispered and dropped his head into his hands. Clarke couldn't leave it any longer and reached out to him. Guilt was etched onto his face in the lines of his eyes, the dip of his brow, the set of his mouth. His elbows dug into his knees and Clarke took his head from his hands to hold it to her shoulder and hold his head to her.

He wasn't crying, and neither was she, but the guilt and agony of loss reverberated through both of them, connecting them through empty nights and desperate hope.

"Bellamy, we'll find her, we'll get her back; I promise. I swear it, Bellamy." Her knees curled onto his lap as she her hands held his head, both of his hands holding onto her wrist to keep them there.

"If you know where she is-Bellamy, we'll get her back." He nodded into her mutely as she carded her hand through his hair, face bent to press to the back of his neck. She breathed in his scent, watched how his black hair fell through her fingers to brush against the back of his neck once more and wondered how on earth she'd help him get Octavia back.

True, she didn't owe him a damn thing, didn't know Octavia at all; but she saw herself in Bellamy, saw herself taking each step with that futile hope. Except, for Bellamy, it wasn't futile; Octavia was out there. And she'd be damned if she let him go on with the same empty place in his heart that she had.

"I'm sorry," he whispered, letting go of her wrist to lay his hands on her legs. Leant back into the sofa and tipped his head back once more, exposing the long column of his throat. "I didn't want to-to drag you into this. I just-I don't know what to do. I can't let her be in that place. But I don't know what else to do- I've tried to get to her, to trade myself for her-" Clarke's hands tightened possessively on his shoulder and arm, "- but, well, you saw the result." The bruises and cuts she'd fixed up flashed through Clarke's mind.

"Then how can we get her? Do you have any idea where else they'd-keep her?" she asked tentatively.

"No, but there're some people I think might help, a few friends inside. But if they get caught helping, they'll be in just as much shit as us. But I have to ask. I have to get her back, Clarke. They'll kill her or-worse."

"We'll get her, Bellamy," She promised again and he turned to her then. The despair in the pit of her stomach burnt orange, red, boiling through her body to her fingertips where his body heat burnt her. She shivered involuntarily as his fingers brushed up her arm and held her face lightly.

Her senses filled with him, then. His legs under hers anchored her, his fingers trapping her face in front of him, his eyes unearthing that hope she'd held on for too long. In her history class they'd once learnt of the Greek Myth Pandora's box, how she foolishly let out all the evils of the world and had managed only to trap one in the box; hope. Clarke had never understood how hope could be a bad thing until she'd lost her dad and hope had twisted her soul to see him in every news headline, hear his voice in every crowd. Bellamy's eyes upturned that blistering hope as he looked into her own, turning it over into the hope of brighter futures and higher hopes and love.

Clarke was lost before the moment his lips touched hers, moving to explore her mouth. She sighed into his mouth as his hand slipped through her hair to hold her closer and she reached up to pull his own hair. His right hand slipped off her leg and up her side to her face as his trailed down to the crook of her leg to drag her over him.

She pulled away breathless, straddling him with her hands still in his hair and his taste still in her mouth. Their foreheads rested together for a moment as they looked at each other through the heat-his pupils were blown wide and his mouth was still open, which Clarke took as an invitation.

She distracted him with her mouth as his hands held her closer by her face, her back, her legs. She kept one hand in his hair whilst the other trailed down his chest and rucked up his shirt to brush his hard stomach with her hand. He shivered beneath her from the cold of her hand and moaned into her and suddenly Clarke was in the air, legs wrapped around his waist as he carried he to his room, laying her down gently on the bed and kissing her slowly. His mouth moved down as she pulled his shirt up and over his head, heart beating a million miles a minute but knowing that this; this was right. This was her knew reality, and she wouldn't exchange the heat of Bellamy's hands of the softness of his touch for anything, anything in the world.

The darkness hid the world outside the window as Clarke was drowned in the sweetest of ecstasies and Bellamy held her, held her and hid her, in turn, from the world around them.

**Hey thanks for reading! Hope y'all enjoyed, bit of a long explanatory chapter but it's needed since it's an au. Review if you have a sec, and thanks again for all the helpful and supportive comments so far, keep 'em coming 3 Happy Valentines day yo**


	7. Clean

Clarke's life had become a storm of activity over the past few days. Between catching up with Raven as she tried to get Finn back on track whilst forgiving him and planning out with Bellamy how to rescue Octavia there was little spare time. Her hours at the clinic were being let up over the bank holiday which was lucky. It gave her the weekend and a Monday to come to terms with the fact that she was a regular girl suddenly diving headfirst in to the shady criminal world of New York.

It was peculiar to say the least; though what was even more startling was Clarke's aptitude for planning and scheming. She'd have thought it would be completely against her nature, but knowing what she knew now about Octavia's situation, she doubted there was any going back. Blue prints of the buildings Bellamy thought she might be in were already pulled up on his computer, schedules of the guard rotation around the main building his old 'family' were in and profiles of most of the guys he remembered working with.

Luckily, Bellamy still had contacts in New York. A guy about Clarke's age was busy at two laptops when she'd walked in the other day and Bellamy had introduced him as Monty, a friend who apparently owed him one. The pay up came in the form of hacking into just about as many files as were available from paper trails on the men Bellamy knew to anyone he suspected might be involved.

It was a testament to how busy Clarke was that she didn't even blink when Bellamy told her he was going to scope out another location tonight-and by scope out, he meant get beaten the crap out of. Clarke scoffed and crossed her arms.

"Fine. I'm coming with you." She told him but Bellamy just shook his head.

"Absolutely not. You know how dangerous it is." She leant against the counter of the kitchen sink as he turned back to his laptop.

"Which is exactly why you need someone with you. I can help, Bellamy, and I'm not letting you go there alone." He looked at her with an almost smile, his dimple tugging up with his mouth.

"Have you ever been hit, Clarke?" She swallowed, but didn't reply. She'd had self-defence classes from her dad since she was small but had never _actually _been in a fight.

"Have you ever hit someone else? Ever been shot at?"

"You get _shot at?" _She craned her neck forward in shock and he just dropped his head and stood up.

"I'm sorry, Clarke, I can't risk it. Not this time. I'm just going to check the place out, see who's going in and out, see what kind of set up it is."

"Like the last times?"

"Exactly."

"Where I had to stitch you up to stop you from bleeding out?"

"Ah-well, a little less adventurous, perhaps." He stepped close to her as he saw her set her jaw in an attempt to stare him down but she didn't budge. He stepped close still and Clarke could smell the soap he'd used from the shower this morning and she narrowed her eyes at him.

"Don't try and distract me, Blake. I'm not letting you go alone."

"And what if I promised to come back in one piece?" Clarke pursed her lips and raised an eyebrow.

"I'm sitting on a roof for hours in the cold just watching a building, Clarke. No going to get answers, not tonight. I need them to think I've left it if we've got any chance at surprising them."

"Promise you won't go near them, Bellamy. There are only so many times I can save your life."

"Promise." He whispered, bringing his hands up to bracket her hips and tilting his head forward to rest his forehead on hers. She relaxed minutely and her eyes flickered to his lips.

"Don't think I'm going to forget it." She chided gently and he knew he'd won. A smile spread across his face as he closed the distance between them and Clarke could feel her heart jump in her chest as their tongues fought momentarily. He smoothed his hands up her arms to shoulders, her neck; one hand tangling in her hair to draw her close before he broke away and kissed the top of her head.

"I'm going to go and get ready then, as much as I wish I could stay." Clarke smirked at him and pulled him down for another kiss as she smoothed her hands down his chest.

"Just be careful." She pleaded and he grinned at her.

"Aren't I always?"

"Raven? Raven, are you in?" Clarke opened Raven's door carefully, peering round to see why it was already ajar.

Raven appeared out of her bedroom and smiled at her as she brushed her hands on her jeans.

"Clarke, hey. I was just bringing some stuff in, give me a hand?"

"Sure," Clarke replied, following her back out of the flat and outside. Raven stepped up to and old black chevvy on the sidewalk and motioned for her to take a box from the open door.

"Cool, this yours?" Clarke asked but Raven shook her head.

"Nah, friend of mine's, but he let me borrow it. Needed to cart some stuff back to my house to work on a little project. Can't do it all at the workshop, and it was closed today for bank holiday. Figured it was best to move the stuff then."

Clarke shifted a light box of curled metal panels onto he knee and piled a few fans on top. Raven had a bag on her shoulder and two boxes stacked in her arms as she slammed the door and locked it manually with some difficulty.

"Come on, it's freezing out here."

Back in the apartment they set all the boxes down and Clarke was about to ask what exactly it was she did when Raven interrupted her thoughts.

"Finn's in a state about you, y'know. Keeps going on about 'assaulting' you and that he needs to make it up to you." Clarke placed the fan back on the pile and straightened up to see Raven slouched into her couch.

"Tell him he should forget about it. I don't want to relive it, to be honest."

"Did he hurt you a lot?" Raven asked in a concerned voice.

"No, not really. It was just a shock." Raven nodded in understanding and took a swig of beer.

"Help yourself." She gestured to the open six pack on the counter. Clarke took one and fell down next to her, curious as to how she and Finn were getting along now.

"It's hard, I won't say it isn't. But he's my best friend, y'know? And I think I forgave him a long time ago. I just couldn't bring myself to go back and help him. But after the time he pushed you around, well, kinda knew he needed help."

"So he's ok?"

"I think so. After all we've been through he's talking to me a lot more now. Says he's trying to get out of New York, maybe finish college somewhere else. Maybe Cali, get as far away from here as he can. But his dad's paranoid."

"Thinks he's going to tell the cops something?" Clarke questioned, but Raven shook her head and laughed humourlessly.

"No, no, no-he told Finn he 'didn't want to lose him', how sick is that? I don't think he beats him anymore though. Good bloody news or I wouldn't be _letting _him stick around."

"Doesn't want to lose him?" Clarke exclaimed, "he's clearly screwed Finn up over being gay, and now that? What is _up _with this guy?"

"I don't know, man, he's weird. Part of this whole dynasty thing though, Finn told me once. That's why Finn was kept around in the first place and not disowned; his family's crazy on protecting their own. His granddad died a few years ago. Murdered, can you believe it?" She snorted into her beer and propped her legs up on the small table in front of them.

"Fucking nightmare living here. I swear I'm out of here as soon as I scrape together two dollars." Clarke crossed and uncrossed her legs; her family wasn't hugely rich, but she was an only child growing with two parents on good incomes. She'd never struggled with money and assumed Raven would resent her for trying to empathise, even if it was subconsciously.

She changed the topic and brought the rest of the six pack over, worrying in the back of her mind the whole night about Bellamy and how many pieces she'd be stitching together when he got back.

Only one, as it turned out. She had the kettle on for a coffee to keep up for Bellamy's return when she heard a knock on the door, early than she'd expected him. She opened the door to find him with one arm above his head resting on the door frame and the other tucked into his pocket, trademark smirk on his face.

"Hey, gorgeous." Clarke rolled her eyes at him but tugged him in by the collar for a kiss anyway. She could feel the heat of his hands through her thin shirt as he wrapped his arms around her and pulled him fully into the apartment.

Stumbling backwards, she backed into the kitchen counter where Bellamy braced his hands on either side of her and pulled away to kiss his way down her neck to her shoulder. He stopped to rest his forehead against it as Clarke smoothed her hands down his neck and kissed his messy hair as she slipped her hands under his shirt half to check for concealed injuries and half just because she could.

Like this, the night progressed until once again the pair slept soundly in the New York night. Outside, the wind stilled in anticipation; the cars which once plagued Clarke's sleep crept past quietly.

**Sorry this was such a long time coming guys, lots of people over to visit and not much time (if any) to write! Hope you enjoyed, next, longer chapter should be up today or tomorrow :)**


	8. Uncut

It wasn't long before Bellamy's agitation about Octavia's disappearance began to bleed through into everything he did. Though he'd said the stakeout was fine, he began to act weirdly after that night. Clarke pressed him about it the next evening but he dismissed that anything essential had been spotted.

"Nothing I could see, Clarke, it was fine." He didn't look at her, instead facing the fridge to see what was in.

"Bellamy, come on, I can tell something happened. I know you're worried about Octavia, but there's no point us going storming in anywhere unless we have a plan or know where she is." Bellamy huffed when she mentioned 'we' but she wasn't going to bring it up now. If he thought he could go in blindly and stupidly to get himself killed, he was wrong.

"Bellamy? Please-we need to figure out where she is; maybe if we get Monty back over-"

"We don't need him back over." He whispered flatly. He was looking into the fridge still but his eyes were distant.

"Are you sure? I mean it'd probably be best if we just-" Bellamy turned to face her and Clarke stopped at the flat look in his eyes.

"I know where she is."

It took a second for Clarke to register what he said, but when she did her knees weakened.

"What! Bellamy that's great! We can go and , I don't know, break her out or something-should we do it tonight? Do we need anything for it? It is-is it very dangerous?" She spoke the last part in a softer voice, the gravity of the situation finally settling on her. They were going in, unarmed, to rescue the sister of a former traitor to the New York mafia. Well, and Clarke guessed she understood why Bellamy wasn't jumping for joy at the moment.

"I don't care, Bellamy, you listen to me. I'm not sitting around here letting you get yourself killed just because you do something stupid-I'm coming with you and I don't care what you say." To her surprise Bellamy didn't protest but stepped closer to her and took her face gently in his hands, stroking her cheeks with his thumbs.

"I know. I couldn't stop you if I taped you to the chair and ran the whole way there." He smiled, Clarke thought, sadly; his mouth opened to say something and then closed quietly.

**Sorry for the long time to update it, life shit ya know. Enjoy, will be wrapping it up in the next few chapters!**


	9. Chapter 9

If Clarke were honest, she didn't really know how she'd got here. Her 9 year old self would be freaking out at the prospect of crawling, hands and knees, through the vents of some back road drug house in the middle of the night. Yet here she was. It was too James Bond for her mind to handle, so she focussed instead on breathing steadily through her mouth and avoiding scraping her knees on the ridges where the metal connected.

Though Bellamy crawled along in front of her their movements created no echoes. This should have comforted Clarke but it made her feel as if they were crawling through a tunnel miles underground and sealed with cement with no air for the echoes to pass through. In reality, they must be about a floor above ground, if Bellamy's maps were correct. But Clarke's stomach was dropping and her head was spinning; what the hell was she doing? The adrenaline had kicked in once he'd burst back in to his apartment where she was researching after work and announced that he'd had a solid lead on where Octavia was being held. But now Clarke's wrists were incredibly sore and she felt like vomiting; she wasn't a Bond girl. She should've left this to-

"Here." Bellamy hissed back to her. A panel of light illuminated his face, casting a shadow from his dimple and illuminating his cheeks. He really was beautiful, Clarke thought distractedly, before she realised what it meant.

She peered down at the square vent he'd crawled over and turned to face. Below the room was lit with an oddly soft golden light-from what Clarke could see the walls were a pale grey. She looked back up at Bellamy ready to unhinge the grate when he stopped her with a hand to her shoulder.

"Clarke-" he swallowed audibly and for the first time since she'd known him, Clarke got the distinct feeling that he might be about to breakdown. She placed a hand over his, supporting herself awkwardly on only her right.

"It's okay, Bellamy. We're going to find her." She reassured him softly but he just shook his head.

"No-no, no – it's not. It's not okay, Clarke, I-" He looked down and took his hand away, resting on his heels as much as the low vent would allow. He ended up practically curled in on himself with his face in his palms as Clarke tried to reason with him again.

"I'm sorry, Clarke. Oh, God, I'm so, so sorry. You were just-I didn't know how…she's my only family-"

"Bellamy what the hell are you-" _talking about_ she was going to finish before a voice pierced through their little huddle as the sound of door quietly opening and softly shutting reached them.

"I told you, it's not going to be a problem. I'm not going to let them hurt you, okay? But you need to drink this- you need to keep your strength up so we can get out of here." The voice was unmistakeably male; deep and urgent, though Clarke heard no reply. A fan was switched on somewhere beneath them and to Clarke's surprise Bellamy was paying little attention: lips parted as if to say something and eyes glistening with unspoken horrors. Clarke started at his face and gestured violently towards the voices below-anything to get him to stop looking at her like that. Perhaps a little too violently, but they do say hindsight it 20/20. A soft _tang _resonated on the metal vent and the shuffling of feet beneath them ceases immediately; whoever they were, something was going on that shouldn't be.

Clarke scanned the metal coffin quickly to see what was moving, and the golden light reflected dimly off of the zipper on the sleeve of her leather jacket. _Shit. _

The movements below had now become louder and more purposeful; the sound of a draw sliding open and a chair being placed assaulted Clarke's ears as she swallowed sickeningly and met Bellamy's equally wide eyes. _At least he's not looking like he's about to throw himself of a bridge_ Clarke thought fleetingly until the light illuminating his face scrambled and was replaced by the shadow of a pistol slanted up ad into the vent.

"Show me your hands _very slowly _or I'll empty this into your face."

**Sorry for the long time to update, real life shit ya know :P Enjoy! Will be wrappign it up in the next few chappies**


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